Rise of the Eternities
by Neon-Suhti
Summary: Summary included in the story.
1. Washed Ashore

Okay so as to get rid of all confusion people have been having, I will let people know now that this is a collection of short stories that all connect up into a greater whole that is why not all the chapters feel connected yet but are still all clearly in the same Multi-verse. The next part of the Smee's Origin ( The Shattered Boy Arc ) story arc is coming soon along with the next part of the Captain Hook arc; they can be expected in about one month or so.

Washed Ashore:

( Siren's Shore, North-Eastern Province, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie December 26th, 1904 C.E. )

Small bits of shell rolled to and fro heaving starfish, seaweed, and a half digested man on to the sunlit sand. Captain James Hook digs fingers and stump into the coarse sediment dragging his decimated frame up to the fingertips of the sea and collapses. His coat, pants, and boots were gone; lost in the churning gut of the crocodile. His sword; not lost but rather left on purpose sticking halfway from the creature's belly. It had been the key to his escape from the crocs putrid stomach. Thin, white underclothes torn to rags clinging to burnt and bleeding skin; the hair of his head eaten by stomach acid. Sharp pain stabbed through him with every breath of air as he coughed blood and seawater. He looked up the beach. His vision blurs his mind fading in out of the present drifting back to the moment of his bitter defeat. Pan shimmering in his typical arrogant youthful splendor. So cocky, so smug in his victory; the little puke. The jarring clang off his blade as he trades blows with the Pan rings in his ears. He stands firm on the deck as the boy leaps from a barrel onto the railing, swings a loose line to the other side of the ship. Hook charges; his blade leans in for the fatal kiss; the Pan spins to the side landing a glancing cut below Hook's knee. Hook stumbles into the railing and meets a geyser. The croc takes his head and shoulders as they both fall back into the sea as he is swallowed completely.

"Peter blasted Pan! He was mine!" Screams Hook through burning insides and deathly agony. Jolts of pain from cracked ribs and weeping abrasions pulls him back to the present. Captain Hook blinks as he finally senses the touch of the rain upon his face; whipped in sideways by the gale storm forming just off to sea from his position. He tries to wipe his eyes but his bad hand is stiff and unmoving and his good hand was lost. No strength to move himself. Warmth is lapped away from him with every incoming tide. Shoving with all his strength, raging against the searing pain consuming him Hook rolls onto his back. He stares up at the scorched sky above him; a flash of light within the clouds, and deep rumble. Then suddenly a loud crack! A white hot jagged bolt strikes the coast waters. Captain Hook tries to rub away the prismatic phantom left behind in his eyes but his arms flail uselessly. He shakes his head causing a wave of pain and nausea, but when he reopens his eyes his vision clears.

Across the chaotic surface of the water comes strolling a rather strange figure. At first the being seems to be a tall flame, orange and twisting through the veil of rain. Then, it sharpens into a man seemingly gaunt with starvation. The suit he wears is pumpkin orange, and pinstriped black; A long row of black buttons keeps it tight against his perfectly protruding rib cage before flaring out over matching trousers. Black shiny dress shoes flash in unison with the lightning.

The thin man steps finally on to the shore and crouches beside the Captain. He flips back the end of his scarf that had came loose in the wind. Intricately cut and sewn from hundreds of rat pelts it had a heavy but dextrous nature and clung like a lover to the neck of the man. "Greetings James. I hope I'm not coming at a bad time."

"Arrarraghh!" Captain Hook tries to yell obscenities at the oh so clever fruit pie gawking at him but the crocodile's stomach acid had burned its way down his throat and nose. Unable to speak the Captain got angrier; making him scream all the harder. When the pain peaked he stopped and whimpered, then growled, then whimpered again.

"Oh my, you seem to be dying, and without your sword or your good hand. That's no way for a man of adventure like you to die. Crying like a little, prepubescent BOY. Heh, heh, hee no sir. No… a man like you ought to die in a feather bed placed upon a pile of plunder while being pleasured by a gaggle of young girls trained in the art of debauchery. Or boys, if you prefer, no judgment." At this Captain Hook raged again then cringed; spitting yet again more blood and sea water.

"Where are my manners? I never introduced myself. You probably have not heard of me fore my exploits were made famous in, shall we say, a place your ships cannot sail. You may call me, the Piper. If you are indeed not ready to meet your watery partner Davy Jones you need only make your mark upon this parchment. "

From his sleeve came a rolled document which the Piper whips open with a flourish. Then, the pen: a long quill with thin, black plumage. The piper maneuvers the pen into Hook's bad hand, and presents the document close to Hook's face.

"You will be erased from the book of death and granted the power to dangle Neverland from the tip of your…" He caresses Hook's decimated stump. "...Hook."

Croaking out of his salt burned throat, "The...terms?"

"Mistrustful to the end. That's good, I don't need a broken boy as my general in Neverland. I need you fighting. One day I will require your sword for one battle, and when it's done, we will be square. Is it a deal?" The Piper bends his brow and grins. Waiting for an answer as he straightens the cuff of his pants.

Hook lays on his back trembling, weak, bloated from salt water absorption, bleeding; anchored to his frame by the two chunks of blue glacier hatred that were his eyes. The Piper holds his gaze. Then with sudden violence Hook stabs the quill tip into the end of his stump. He begins to sign 'Capt' but the piper lays a hand on the effort.

"Your proper name if you please."

The letters drag themselves out on the paper, shaky and blotched with sea spray; James W. Fordon. As the 'n' completes his hand collapses to the sand and Captain James Hook smooths into a dead-looking pudding puddle, barely breathing.

"Very good sir." The Piper straightens and sobers rolling the parchment and slipping it into his coat. "These are for you." He procures a small, black flake and a thumb sized clam. Bending down with a shrug and a shake he presses the clam into Hook's palm. "Grasp this m' boy. This is no ordinary mollusk. Oh, now this won't do. You are too engrossed in death's symphony to get your orders."

The Piper mashes the black flake into the end of Hook's bloody stump. Veins grow out and in sinking into bone and muscle. Color blooms out from the chunk of carapace down his forearm, and up to his shoulder. When the color reaches his chest Captain Hook spasms and yells. Chasms of torn flesh knit together, sagging muscles become piano wire. Dark hair sprouts from his scalp, stubble on his chin, and thick black down his chest. After about a minute the spasms calm to local twitching. Closed eyes become frantic as if suffering nightmares.

The Piper unbuttoning the top of his coat, reaches an arm into the elbow and pulls out an item impossibly long, "When you face Pan again you will probably want this." Captain Hook's rapier tells its legends when placed upon the blank canvas of sand.

Hook gathers the sword and belt to his chest with his stump and begins to breathe regularly. He gets to his feet while casting another glance at the Piper who gives him a grimace-grin, "Bloody...good...form."

Shackling the sword belt over his torn underclothes he looks down at the clam the Piper gave him. He tucks it into his belt. The Piper sidles up holding his hat down against a gust of wind, "Don't lose that Captain, it will be your guide through the Pale Waters."

"The Pale Waters? What would Captain James Hook…" He lifts his stump, sees his good hand is missing and frowns, "...want in those accursed waves?"

"Your throne of course. Hold the clam to the horizon and it will show you the way." Hook nods,

"The storm was blowing to the southeast when we battled near Marooners' Rock. I must be on Mistmoon Island, or Siren's Shore."

"Very good Captain, this is indeed Siren's Shore. I'm afraid to say the storm was pushing your body ahead of it but now that you are stationary it will be upon you shortly."

Lightning streaked overhead illuminating the rain to diamonds, sketching the silhouettes of clouds and mountains in the distance. The clouds rolled over the whitecaps bringing solid darkness ever closer.

"How long do I have before you require my steel?"

Slapping him on the back The Piper smiles and puts an arm around Hook's shoulders shaking him playfully, "Plenty of time m' boy. Enjoy yourself. Take a mermaid to bed, or…" putting up a confidential hand. "...a merboy."

Hook scowls and spits, "Best we head inland."

"You go ahead chum. My business draws me elsewhere. I trust you understand what you need to do, hmm?"

Running a hand through his short, new growth of hair Hook's scowl deepens. He plucks at the blood stained, sopping ruin of cloth clinging to his chest. Through the wind's howl cuts the sword's song. The blade shimmers black and clean. He resheathes his sword and walks away from the sea and the Piper without another word.

The sun had finally set behind the frozen summits of the Mist Veil Mountains. Hook had been trekking along the coast in search of his crew for over two hours. He was grateful for the shift from burning rays of the sun to the soothing gaze of the Neverlandian moon. Pain pulsated through his right arm where the black flake had been forced into him. It almost seemed as if the blackness it had left on the end of his stump was spreading.

"Captain...captain…" shouts a voice from the nearby shadows. Hook pivots towards the direction of the voice, his sword drawn. Mr. Smee materializes from the tree line. Relieved to see the face of his beloved first-mate and not fully recovered from his brush with death Hook's knees suddenly buckle. He slumps into Smee's arms.

"Sir! We thought you dead! Relax a moment, catch your breath." Smee helps Hook to a nearby log. Hook leans forward on his knees and Smee takes off his coat and drapes it over the captain.

"We cannot have the crew see their captain in his long-wear." continued Smee.

"Good form Mr. Smee, good form." Captain Hook painstakingly works his arms into the coat. He rubs his eyes and blinks. His vision clears once again to find Smee crouching before him in his worn and faded robes. "How did you find me?"

"The storm broke the Jolly Roger to pieces. Me and part of the crew made quick for a dingy and ended up washed upon the same beach as you about a league down current. When I awoke I decided on a ranging and the winds of fortune brought me to you. Truly extraordinary good luck."

"Truly, indeed. Who came ashore with you?"

"Bill Dukes, Mr. Mason, Black Murphy, Cookson, Noodler, and Cecco. A few more have washed up but they were in no shape if you get my meaning sir."

"Is the dingy still sea-worthy?"

"Yes sir. We will need to make new oars but I can put the boys on it, have it done by tea time."

"Very good. Make it so Mr. Smee. Tonight we make camp and prepare for portage."

The other men were in sunken and sour spirits when Captain Hook stepped into the small clearing they inhabited. Bleedin' Pan. Dirty coward makin' crocs fight his battles. Why hasn't any rum come ashore? Or a barrel of salt pork. Captain Hook's presence sliced through their chagrin and there was an explosion of movement. Broad leafed bushes shook, sand flew up. The men tucked torn shirts into sagging britches. Black Murphy bled from a long gash on his chest. Mason found a way to get even uglier by having a chunk of his hair torn out, blood dried over one side of his face; the scab caked with sand and loose hair. Noodler had no shirt as he had tied its remnants around a wound on his thigh. Cecco was so pale he might have been dunked in milk but appeared unhurt otherwise. Bill Dukes and Cookson were covered in small cuts but one had to look close to notice due to the amount of ink covering Dukes, and the ebony colored skin of Cookson. Despite their injuries and the loss of the Jolly Roger Captain Hook's resurrection summoned mighty cries from the pirates. Several Lemurs and a Graxx scurried from the vicinity chasing after a rather quick Furetalla that cunningly took refuge in a nearby tree.

"Alright men, our mistress requires oars. Who's gonna give 'em to her?" asks Hook firmly.

"AAAhhh Hooooo!" The pirates scatter into action.

"Mr. Smee, we have a destination." says Hook turning to Smee and pulling him aside firmly.

"Where is that sir?" asks Smee attentively.

"The Pale Waters."

Smee stares at his captain bleary eyed, plagued with sparse stubble. The skin of his face sucks in and droops. Battered, sore shoulders pull themselves back, and go rigid as his spine makes physical a cold touch of fear. "Aye, Captain." Hook strides off toward the beach rubbing his thumb over the Piper's clam.

"Begging your pardon Captain but I's don't see the good in lugging our boat over the land. Boats is made for water." inquires Mr. Mason meekly.

"I'm once again reminded how that mug of yours hides a dizzying intellect. But you see Mr. Mason that what we are about to undertake will not be like a raid on a village where we get the choice meat and the choice women. It won't even be like boarding a high class merchant ship filled with silks and caviar. No, no, no. We are going take the very heart of Neverland. I will be it's king and you all will be my noble lords." Replies Hook casting his eyes to Mr. Mason with an amused grin.

"Lord Noodler. I like me the sound uh that." said Noodler as he passed them by.

"You see Mr. Mason, our portage through the hills and then down Blood Creek will allow us to infiltrate Blackfrost Port in Raven Cove undetected. Surprise Mr. Mason will be our greatest weapon in this endeavor."

Black Murphy uprooted small trees and the men shaped them into crude oars with stones shattered sharp. The crew and Smee hoisted the boat to their shoulders and curled their arms around oar bundles. Hook stomped before them hacking a path through the underbrush with his sword. With mostly empty bellies the men stopped every few hours or so to rest. In the mountain passes Smee showed them how to lay the oars down and slide the boat over the top with two men picking up the back oar after they passed it and putting it in front until the terrain made such methods of portage impractical. Four men once again heaved the boat onto their shoulders like pallbearers would a coffin. Noodler scouted ahead from the dense jungle canopy, scampering limb to limb with his bizarre hands.

As they moved into the deep jungle the small trees were replaced by thick ancient megalithic ones. Masses of leaves and vines clothed the trunks, and the ground was uneven and difficult to traverse. The ground plants became larger as well and Smee joined Hook in the role of hacking a path through the Shade Shrubs, Nightmare Orchids, Jungle Fang Lilies and Clumps of Faery Ferns sometimes unnesting groups of their flying namesakes.

The more he swung his blade the more normal Hook felt. He relaxed and thought back to when he first arrived in Neverland. Much of that time had been spent in the Neverwoods to the west chasing the native Indian girls, or lounging on the rough gray shell of a boulder tortoise. Sometimes he would go on an occasional expedition into this very jungle plucking nuts and fruits from the slow passing Walker Trees as they trudged along their ancestral routes. Many years and ten score that many pints of Nectar Rum had since dulled those once cherished and vivid memories. All he knew now was head up and push forward.

Hours passed as they continued their tedious march through the jungle. When the men were not hauling the ship they scurried about gathering food; some collecting seeds, roots, and nuts while others speared wild Koalas and Keejos. Hook loved the magnificent taste of Keejos Legs when prepared properly, just put em in the fire Monkey fir and all; made 'em crispy on the outside. Their bat like-wings could even be sewn into temporary makeshift water skins.

Wild Fairies tickled the men carrying the boat. Hook looked back. The group of salt infused killers squirmed around like filthy children and the wretched high-pitched giggling of the fairies caused his teeth to ache.

"Mr. Smee! Show these putrid creatures what we think of their games." demanded Hook. His tone carried his deep disdain for all things whimsical.

"Aye Captain" replied Smee as he swiveled with his elegantly curved blade. The blade whizzed, striking out quick as a viper. Two fluorescent wings disconnected from their tiny owner. Luminescent blood spewed from it's back as its glow began to flicker; the tiny creature spiraled to the ground with wet thud. The fairies try frantically to escape as the terrifying and powerful aura radiating from Smee shakes them to their core. Smee strikes out again with rapid unforgiving precision. Seconds later the remaining fairies litter the ground, dead or on their way to being dead. Smee casts his blood-thirsty stare at the men reminding them why the slight, mild mannered man holds the position of first mate. The crew trembles and hefts the boat resolutely. Smee then turns to Hook. Hook's heartless acceptance extinguishes the intensity of Smee's gaze. Hook walks over to Smee and places an affirming arm around him. The two look down at the first fairy Smee had dewinged. It flopped around on the ground writhing, puking blood; screaming with pain. Hook smiles at Smee wickedly. Back in control of himself Smee gives only a subtle nod and all is understood between the two old friends. Hook brings down his boot hard on the wingless fairy grinding it into the ground. They share a wicked laugh at the satisfying sound of tiny breaking bones and bursting arteries.

"Alright men carry on, back to work" shouted Hook as he and Smee turn their eyes back to the men both of them now rather calmed, soothed by the bloody satisfaction that the brutal act they had just committed provided them. The highest peak of the island was about 1500 ft above sea. They camped on the west side of the mountain in hopes of finding some spring waters they could follow leading them to the banks of Blood Creek proper.

Hook and his fellow pirates had at last made it out of the eastern jungles and would now be entering into the deep dark Neverwood Forest. Cookson was the first to succumb to sleep, just an hour after they made camp for the night. Bill Dukes had caught a yellow spotted Ambush Spider and placed it on Cookson's chest; the arachnids legs neatly sprawled out spanning his belly with its two fore-legs lifted in warning.

"Avast! We've run aground! All hands!" shouted Bill Dukes with a voice spiced with panic waking Cookson abruptly. Cookson's eyes fluttered open as he sat up on his elbows looking around. After a second his vision cleared and his eyes swelled with fear as he realized he was face to face with a massive spider on his chest.

"Eee yee yee yaaah!" Shrieked Cookson as he wriggled back to get away but the spider clung to his rags and flared its fangs. He attempted to swat the spider away aggressively with his arms to avail but then using his thumb and forefinger he plucked a leg of the spider and tossed it away. The Spider landed on Noodler who swiped down at it several times before fully dislodging it from his thigh. The Spider fell to the ground hissing at them menacingly before turning and scurrying away into the brush. The whole company laughed; Captain Hook the loudest of all.

"Bloody good show! Bravo!" Shouted Hook accompanied by Smee who was whistling and cheering as well. Cookson pouted and put his back to a tree; he rubbed nervously at his neck and arms as though he could still feel the legs of the spider on him. Cookson caught a glimpse of Bill Dukes grinning like a pleased trickster schoolboy a few paces away automatically revealing to Cookson who was perpetrator of this dirty prank.

"Ya Bastard! Wha if it ad bitten me? them are poisonous ya know..." shouted Cookson to Dukes who turned and began walking away with a demeanor of mock innocence.

"Puttin a nasty thing like 'at on man unawares, and a fellow crew-mate ta boot. Special hell reserved fer dem types." continued Cookson though it was clear that Dukes was not listening and instead was proceeding to eat some nuts and berries out of his hat.

Hook took first watch despite Smee's protest. He had never felt more awake, more vigorous and alert. His Muscles sang and cried out for action. The worn leather of his sword handle felt warm and alive. His stump throbbed with an powerful itching pain. Hook; feeling rather nimble and brave as if suddenly infused once again with has long fading youth chose to give in and have a little fun. Hook looked around first to make sure he has privacy before abruptly turning and making his way up the nearest tree strong enough to hold him. Hook climbed the tree as high as he dared and then carefully balancing himself he walked gracefully and skillfully out on the thicker limbs of the tree. The branch was about as thick as his chest so he felt secure that it could support his weight with relative ease. At first he looked down the mountainside for any sign of movement but soon he resigned himself to simply lay back on the branch and watch the fireflies dancing around him carried high on the updrafts of ride rising up the side of the mountain. All through the forest were loose pillars of blinking insects; flashing dazzling red, yellow, blue, and even purple. Tired he then let his head fall back resting on the branch softly as he gazed at the Neverland Sky in all its beauty breathtaking beauty. He was not looking at the sky to find his through the marker-less sea or to navigate his way through a treacherous storm, he was merely looking and it had never seemed beautiful than it did now; he had never felt so powerful, so alive. It was then that an overwhelming sense of certainty and clarity consumed his mind and he could the see the entirety of his path laid out before him; in his mind's eye he could see beyond the forests beyond his arrival at the Pale Waters, beyond him claiming his rightful place as god of the Neverland all the way to moment he desired most; the moment when Pan's lifeless body would be dangle like a bloodied rag doll at the end of this sword his heart removed and genitals and entrails strewn out spewing streams of red as his men had their horrifying sadistic fun with Pan's petulant followers, Lost Boys. It was all so clear and so soon he would make it a reality. Hook smiled with glee at the destruction he would soon bring to the Neverlands.

A few moments passed as Hook sat high up on the branch looking for any signs of trouble as he pulled out his pipe, and began to puff away, enjoying the sweet smooth minty sweet taste of Neverland Snow Hemp. He knew he did not need to really worry too much after all the only thing that could really cause him or his men any trouble in the Neverwoods would be a band stray Indian braves and he doubted they would wander this far from their overly defended spit of land. He ran a finger over the black mark on his stump the Piper gave him, to his surprise it was hot to the touch; almost searingly so.

When Smee called up to him saying he would take over the watch Hook dismissed him a wrist flick.

"Very well Mr. Smee, put your eyes to the bush, I'll take a nice spell of sleep where I am." responded Hook giving into to Smee's insistence to take watch, after all a nice sleep sounded rather good to Hook right now.

"But Captain, if you turn over in the night you'll…" persisted Smee in a concerned voice.

"I'm well aware of the danger Mr. Smee as your are aware how much I detest being questioned, now off with you!" interrupted Hook with a tone of obvious irritation. Hook continued to replay the magnificent moment of him killing Peter Pan over and over in his mind letting the sound of Peter's screams and cries lullaby him to sleep.

At last Hook and his company of fellow pirates had made it to the banks of Blood Creek, the radiant amber sun was just approaching high noon.

"Alright men get her in the water and let's get this show on the road. I want Cecco on point with his rifle at the ready and Smee you shall watch our rear. Cookson, Dukes, Mason, and Murphy you are on rowing duty. Noodler you shall be our Spotter and for bloody-sake keep your eyes open men, they don't call it Blood Creek for nothing." shouts Hook as he gestures for the towards the great flowing creek.

After several hours of relatively smooth sailing they had managed to make significant progress towards Blackfrost Port and Hook as positive they would arrive at their destination just after nightfall, which was perfect with what he already had in mind.


	2. Alice's Evidence Redux

Alice's Evidence Redux:

( the Royal Court of Hearts, the City of Hearts, Realm of the House of Hearts, Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie, November 27th, 1785 C.E. )

"There" cried Alice forgetting in the frenzy of the moment just how large she had grown in the last few minutes. She jumped up in such a rush that she knocked over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, angering all the jurymen and sending them tumbling into the crowd. There they laid sprawled out, reminding Alice of the bowl of goldfish she had accidentally upset the week prior.

"Oh dear I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Alice in a dismayed voice as she began picking the jurymen up again as fast as she could. Alice had the faint impression that the jurymen should be gathered up as quickly as possible and placed back into the jury box lest they die like a goldfish out of it's bowl.

"This trial will not able to proceed..." declared the Red King with a heavy menacing tone "until every last jurymen has been placed back into their respectful places." his eyes locked on Alice.

Alice cast her eyes to the jury-box and found that in her recklessness she had placed the lizard jurymen into his designated place upside down thus the little thing was frantically flailing its tail all around pathetically. Alice quickly rectified to this mistake placing him into his designated place right side up allowing him to regain a more calm and soothed demeanor.

Once the jury had at last recovered a little from the shock of being tossed about and distressed so, and their notepads and pencils had been collected and given back to them. The jurymen quickly proceeded to write down a full account of the accident that has just transpired with the exception of the lizard jurymen who instead appeared too stunned to accomplish anything other than sitting dumb-founded with his mouth open and a blank stare on his face; his eyes directed towards the ceiling of the courtroom.

"So do tell us dear girl, what do you know about this matter?" asked the Red King forcefully.

"Absolutely Nothing," answered Alice her voice proud yet sincere.

"Is that so?" continued the Red King proddingly.

"It's what I said" replies Alice steadfastly.

"That is exceedingly crucial," says the Red King as averts his gaze to the jurymen; Alice could see from her current height that all of the jurymen were taking meticulous notes on the court proceedings with the continued exception of the lizard jurymen who continued to star dead locked at Alice her head now grazing the ceiling of the courtroom.

"Silence!" declares the Red King loudly "Rule Forty-two clearly states that all persons over a mile high must leave the court." continues the Red King as everyone in the courtroom turns their gaze to Alice

"But King I am not a mile high" responds Alice.

"But you are indeed and growing" continued the Red King pressingly.

"Well I am not going to leave at any rate" declared Alice confidently.

"After all it is not a real rule; you just now made it up." continues Alice accusingly.

"How dare you accuse me, it happens to be the oldest rule in the book," responds the Red King in a deeply offended tone.

"Well if that is true then it should have been Rule Number 1" replies Alice. The Red King slams shut his court-book angrily.

"Consider your verdict." Orders the Red King in thundering voice casting his eyes like daggers to the jurymen.

"But your majesty there is still more evidence to consider." interrupts the White Rabbit abruptly as he presents an important looking sealed envelope.

"What's in it?" asks the Red Queen from atop her royal judgement seat; gesturing for the White Rabbit to give her the envelope.

.

"I haven't opened it yet," replied the White Rabbit as he hands the Red Queen the envelope.

"But it would appear to be a letter of sorts, written by the accused to somebody."

"Indeed it must be," says the Red King before casting a suspicious look at Alice

"That is unless it was in fact written to nobody, which is rather unusual wouldn't you say." continues the Red King contemplatively.

"Who is the letter addressed to?" asks one of the jurymen.

"Strangely it is not addressed at all," answers the White Rabbit.

"In fact the envelope itself is rather naked with no writing on it at all." continues the White Rabbit.

"Wait, this is no letter at all but rather it is a series of verses" blurts out the Red Queen loudly.

"Are the verses written in the accused's handwriting?" asks another one of the jurymen.

"No, not at all, and that's the queerest thing about it." answers the White Rabbit. The jurymen all suddenly seem puzzled.

"The Accused must have tried to replicate somebody else's handwriting." responds the Red King. The jurymen all brighten up once again upon hearing this.

"Please listen to me your majesty. I didn't write those verses, and they no way they can prove that I did because there the verses bare no signature." pleads the Knave

"All that proves that you were intent on some manner ill-deed otherwise you would have left your signature like a honest fellow" replies the Red King decidedly. The whole courtroom clapped at this fore it was the first truly clever thing the Red King had since the trial began.

"Without a doubt his guilt is undeniable. OFF WITH-" declares the Queen with a booming voice.

"NOW YOU STOP RIGHT NOW" screams Alice interrupting the Red Queen; soliciting shrieks of outrage, shock and terror from the rest of the courtroom.

"These verses in no way prove the Knaves guilt in this matter" continues Alice, outraged at the madness with which this trial was being conducted.

"You do not even know what the verses are about much less what mean in regards to this trial" presses Alice rather flustered.

"Then let us read them." bellows the Red King; gesturing for the Red Queen to the read the verses aloud so that all the courtroom may hear.

"Where shall I begin dear husband?" asks the Red Queen.

"Let us start at the beginning and continue reading until you come to the end; then be done." requested the Red King. Silence filled the courtroom and tension in the air grew exceedingly thick as the Red Queen read the verses to the rest of the court.

"They told me you have been with her,

And mentioned me to him:

She bestowed me a great character,

But claimed I could not swim.

He told them all I had not gone,

(We know it is the truth):

If she tries to force the issue on,

What shall become of you?

I granted her one, they granted him two,

You granted us three or more;

They all returned from him to you,

Though they were mine before.

If she or I could risk to be

caught up in this affair,

He trusts in you to set them free,

Exactly as we were.

My impression was that you have been

(Before she had her fit)

the obstacle placed between

Him, ourselves, and it.

Don't let him know she liked them best,

For this must forever be

A secret, kept from all the rest,

Between yourself and me."

"That indeed is the most potent piece of evidence we've heard yet," proclaims the Red King, wringing his hands together in triumph

"So now let the jury-" continues the Red King.

"If any of them are able to understand it," blurts out Alice interrupting the Red King. Alice had grown in size so much over the past several minutes that she was no longer the slightest bit afraid of the Red King.

"I'll give sixpence to any jurymen who can tell me the meaning of those verses, I don't believe there's an atom of meaning in them." continues Alice.

"She doesn't believe there's an atom of meaning in it," murmured the jurymen among themselves for a few moments but none of them attempted to explain the meaning of the verses.

"If there is no meaning in it then that just saves us a heap of trouble as we need not try to find any. Yet I don't know, I seem to find some meaning in them after all; '-claimed I could not swim-'" continued the Red King intently; spreading out the verses on his knee, and examining them with one spectacled eye.

"You cannot swim can you Knave" asks the Red King turning to the Knave.

"Do I look like I can?" answered the Knave shaking his head sadly which of course he did not since he was made entirely of cardboard.

"'-We know it is the truth-'" refers to the jurymen of course continues the Red King.

"'-If she tries to force the issue on-' must be referring to the Red Queen." proclaim the Red King confidently.

"'-What shall become of you?-' and '-I granted her one, they granted him two-' wait I got it these verses must be referring to what he did with the tarts" continues the Red King.

"But if you continue it also says '-they all returned from him to you-'" says Alice forcefully.

"And by golly there they are!" says the Red King victoriously, pointing to the tarts on the table.

"Nothing can be clearer than that. Then again '-before she had her fit-' you have never had any fits, my dear, have you?" asks the Red King as he turns to face his wife up in her royal judgement seat.

"Never!" responds the Red Queen furiously, tossing an inkstand at the lizard jurymen as she spoke.

"Then the words don't fit you." replies the Red King looking round the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.

"It's a pun!" continues the Red King in an angry tone as everybody laughs.

"Let the jury consider their verdict," demanded the Red King for about the twentieth time that trial.

"No, no! Sentence first and let the verdict come afterwards." blurts out the Red Queen.

"NONSENSE!" shouts Alice loudly.

"The idea of having the sentence first!" continues Alice shaking a chastising finger at the Red Queen.

"HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" bellows the Red Queen, turning purple with rage.

"I won't!" continued Alice aggressively.

"OFF WITH HER HEAD!" shouted the Red Queen at the top of her voice but nobody moved for Alice had at last regained her full size; towering over the courtroom.

"Who cares for you at all? You're nothing but a pack of cards!" proclaims Alice. At this the whole royal guard rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her soliciting from a tiny scream from Alice; half of fright and half of anger as she succeeded at beating them off of her. Alice turns crashing a massive hole in the wall; storming through out of the courtroom and into the Wonderland Forest.


	3. The Boy Peter

The Boy Peter:

( Kirriemuir Cemetery, Kirriemuir, Angus, Scotland, January 24th, 1866 C.E. )

The heavenly shroud of glistening stars and milky flaxen dust was just starting to bloom in the sky as the moon's pale phantom glow descends softly upon the shadowed grounds of the Kirriemuir Cemetery illuminating the emerald grass covered slopes littered with grave-marker slabs, all them alone and all of them at rest in silence except one for one. At one of the headstones kneels a young boy with jet-black hair and dressed in a dark grey suit tailored to suit his young and form of his petite stature. The young boys head rested heavy against the polished headstone of one David Ogilvy Barrie. The boy's head hung heavy with the sorrow and his eyes bore the redness of one recently consumed by crying and pain, though clearly he had run out of tears some time ago and was now on the emotional down-slope as his voice had long since calmed. This was not the first time the boy had come to this grave bringing fresh flowers and a heart heavy with loss but the experience was still new enough to him that it had not lost it's painful heart-wrenching edge completely.

"Mother stayed in her room again today, she never leaves it anymore. It has been almost three months since you left us and she still does nothing but cry. She misses you so much. I try to comfort her but, like always, she just looks right through me as if I am not even there. Why did you have to go David? Mother is so sad without you, and there is nothing I can do to help her feel better." says the young boy with a tone of defeat, despair and a hint of pleading.

"Dearest David…" the young boy places a tender hand on the headstone, his fingers ghosting over the engraved letters with a mix of love and longing.

" I know it is wrong to blame you for leaving me alone with her, but …." The young boy climbs to his feet animating his frustration.

"I just wish there was something I could do to help her not be so sad." The boy turns his eyes up to the sky with realization at how late it has gotten.

"Night is falling... I better head back. I pray you find peace David, I really do, and don't worry about mom. I will find someway to make her happy, I promise." says the youth solemnly as he turns and begins making his way down the hill following the path out of the cemetery. When without warning the world seems to stop while the air suddenly goes stale as two small sparks of energy come streaking down towards the very headstone the boy had just bestowed with his tears.

"What manner of strangeness is this?" mutters the young boy with a tone bewilderment as he turns and begins cautiously making his way back to investigate the falling dazzling sparks. He kneels down in an effort to stay hidden as he draws close to where the sparks had touched down and to his surprise where he had expected to find scorched and damaged earth he instead found a shimmering blonde haired, faye boy dressed in vines and emerald leafs floating gently down onto the cool green grass as a dancing glowing golden ball of light zooms to and fro around him. The young boy was entranced by the radiant aura of the faye boy before him, but at the same time he was afraid , never before had he seen anything so mesmerizing. After a few minutes of staring in awe the boy decided he better make his escape just in-case this vision was hostile, moving as slowly as he could and as quickly as he dared the boy tried to move stealthily backwards down the hill out of the cemetery but before he could even take his first step backwards he was suddenly stopped dead in his tracks by the most warm and soothing voice he had ever heard.

"Hello Jamie, I always knew you were a very special boy." the faye boy turned to him with eyes like dazzling, deep pools of swirling green.

"Excuse me but I do not believe I know you." responds Jamie with a cautious, and fearful voice while still trying desperately to back away but unable to will himself to move.

"True but you can see me and that means you are very special indeed" responds the faye boy as he begins ghosting his way towards Jamie elegantly.

"This isn't possible, this can't be happening it just can't be..." stammers Jamie with disbelief.

"Be what? Real" the faye boy lifts Jamie's chin so that their gazes lock, causing the most vibrant shade of redness to surge through Jamie's cheeks.

"Feel that, see I am real or at least real enough" says Peter playfully smacking Jamie upside the head.

"Then what are you? who are you?" asks Jamie.

"Well first off my name is Peter. As for what I am... I guess the simplest way to put it is to say that I am the protector of the souls of fallen children. Children like your brother David..." answers Peter kneeling down and placing a hand on David's Headstone for a moment before standing back up and ruffling Jamie's hair comfortingly.

"So you know David. Do you know where is he now? Is he happy?" responds Jamie.

"Yes I know David, I carried his soul to the afterlife and yes he is very safe and very happy. David's soul now resides in the Neverplaces where he can dwell in splendor forever. He wants you to know that he does not blame you for what happened to him and that he is sorry he had to leave you all alone with your mother but it was his time." continues Peter in a warm, soft voice as he strokes Jamie's hair reassuringly.

"I… I just wish I knew how to help my mother. She does not need me, she needs David." says Jamie with dismay.

"Then for now give her David but never forget who you are inside. After all without you who will write about me." responds Peter with a quirky smirk as he ruffles Jamie's black hair playfully.

"What do you mean by that?" says Jamie laughing nervously.

"One day when you meet some very special boys and their loving mother you will understand" whispers Peter in Jamie's ear as Jamie's legs suddenly give out and he collapses into Peter's arms causing Peter to finally notice the extreme level of fatigue in Jamie's eyes.

"You're tired, I should get you home… Here hold on to me." says Peter as he scoops Jamie up into his arms.

"No.. wait what did you mean when you said I should give my mother David for now?" interrupts Jamie desperately.

"Shh, you'll figure it out. Now just close your eyes and sleep. Do not worry we will meet again someday, I promise" continues Peter placing a hand over Jamie's eyes causing him to fall instantaneously into a deep sleep. Peter then with a gentle leap into the air takes off into the starry night sky towards Jamie's house.

Upon reaching the small white walled house of little Jamie Peter quietly opened the second floor window to Jamie's room. Then ghosting gently down to the floor he walks over to the bed and tucks Jamie into bed, and with one last smile Peter turns and leaps back out the window. Peter smiles excitedly at Tink who had finally caught up to him after cleansing David's grave. Together the two of them cast their eyes to the jewel speckled heavens before suddenly shooting forth with immense speed shattering beyond the second star to the right and straight on until morning.


	4. My Name is Vincent Frost

My Name is Vincent Frost:

( London, England, January 3rd, 1905 C.E. )

It was a bitter cold night as London slept blanketed in a shimmering layer of white. Mr. Darling exited the bank exhausted, his long and uncommonly difficult day at work was finally over. He began making his way back home his mind heavy with evermore questions about what had happened that night not too long ago when his beloved children had made their way back through the nursery window accompanied by scraggly troop of boys. Mr Darling loved his children and had even over the course of the last few days become quite attached to the Lost Boys but there was just so many questions to be answered and he could not understand why his daughter kept lying to him, after all he was only asking for is the truth. Why? Why was Wendy so unwilling to tell him? Does she not trust her own father enough to give him the truth. Children just don't disappear through a second-story window in the middle of night without a trace and if they really were abducted like Wendy claims why is there so many holes in her story and so many questions she won't answer. How can he fulfill his role as her father in this situation if she will not tell the truth? Mr. Darling was about half way home, lost deep in thought when suddenly all streets lamps flickered out darkening the street and pulling his mind back to his surroundings.

The frigid winter wind that had been ghosting across his face just moments ago swiftly vanished and a feeling of unnerving absolute stillness filled the air as if the world had stopped turning. All was disturbingly silent until for what seemed like forever but then Mr Darling hears it, the unmistakable echo of footsteps coming closer reverberating from a near by alley. Mr. Darling turnes to face the direction of the footsteps as they continued to draw closer and closer to him. Mr. Darling heart begins to race, fear claws his mind making him shudder. Mr. Darling tries in vain to step backwards away from the coming foot steps but it is no use, he is frozen… petrified by fear.

Mr Darling tries to scream… voiceless, the footsteps now upon him as from out of the shadows there at last emerges a strange figure stepping towards him staring at him with deep and unnaturally radiant pink-irised eyes that seemed to almost glow like illuminated gems in the darkness of the night. Mr Darling could feel the man's gaze piercing him, looking deep into his soul filling Mr. Darling with a chill unlike anything he had ever known.

The man finally comes to a halt in front of Mr. Darling tapping the ground at his feet with his walking stick as the world seemingly kicks back into effect restoring the wind to it's natural wintery blow and all the street lamps to glow once more.

"Hello Mr. Darling, my name is Vincent Frost and I am here to help you." says the man smiling warmly reaching out his hand to Mr. Darling. Vincent was dressed in dark black slacks, black button-up shirt, and long-coat with silver buttons. Vincent's skin was pale as the moon and his hair was a radiant shade of gold. His Walking Stick was made of shimmering silver with handle shaped like the head of a raven.

"Wa… Was that you just now?" asked Mr Darling shakily simultaneously both captivated and afraid of Vincent.

"Was what me?" responds Vincent cooly casting a quick unsettling smile at Mr. Darling who being of the timid sort and still clearly suspicious of the stranger standing before him cautiously shakes Vincent's hand.

"Wha… what do you want?" asks Mr. Darling shakily.

"It is not about what I want, it is about knowing the truth, such as the truth about what happened to your children that night. Where did they go? Why did they go?" Says Vincent his voice calm and casual with a gentle smile. Mr. Darling grabs Vincent by his collar aggressively his caution and slight fear now turned to anger by his building frustrations.

"I don't know who are or what you think you know about me and my children but we are just an ordinary family and if you ever come near my kids I'll.." growls Mr. Darling still wringing the collar of still smiling and calm Vincent.

"You'll what?" interrupted Vincent as Mr. Darling hands suddenly grew bitter cold as if all the blood in them had turned to ice causing him to let go Vincent's collar.

"This is absurd, you just stay away from me and stay away from my family" roars Mr. Darling through gritted teeth before turn and starting to make his way once again towards home.

"There is more to this than you know, we can help, when you're ready we will help you." Shouts Vincent to the now quickly fading outline of Mr. Darling and with those final words Vincent turns his gaze to the shimmering stars that freckled across the night sky like the speckles of Robin's egg. Then with a soft inaudible whisper Vincent vanishes dissipating into nothingness on the chill winter wind.

Alas Mr. Darling finally makes it home with a sigh of relief as he steps briskly over the threshold leaving the nippy frigid claws night behind him, allowing the soothing waves of the crackling hearth to fill his body; restoring heat to his veins but doing little to warm his spirits. Mrs. Darling was playing a soft gentle tune on the piano as the sounds of Nana wrangling Slightly, Tootles, and Nibs into the upstairs bathtub for their nightly wash-up reverberates through the house. For a moment Mr. Darling could of almost let himself believe that things were, for at least a moment, back to normal but all in all it was of course just an illusion. Ever since their children vanished through the window that night leaving the watchful eyes of the London nightlights far behind them the once peaceful and simple nature of their family had been by all accounts completely shattered in a way that made Mr. Darling fear it could never be repaired. Mr. Darling takes off his top hat and long coat and places them on the rack before making his way into the living room, kneeling down next to the piano and placing a intended-to-be loving kiss on his wife's cheek letting the fire warm his bones and her radiance warm his heart, though if truth be told it did little to thaw the growing chill that was slowly turning his once sunny burning heart into a cloudy frozen berg.

How were the kids today?" asks Mr. Darling as he straightens his stance, pulling a small cloth out of his vest pocket and wiping his glasses.

"Fine, they miss you when you are gone at work but the day was, for the most part, uneventful. John is sleeping over at the Winston's home again tonight and Michael has been playing with the rest of the boys upstairs most of the day though he was upset earlier as it seems he has misplaced his bear" replies Mrs. Darling as she stops playing and looks towards her husband with a half-felt smile.

"And where is Wendy?" asks Mr. Darling casting his eyes toward the stairs.

"Where else…" responds Mrs. Darling flatly, averting her attention back to the piano to begin playing once more. Mr. Darling makes his way up the stairs to the nursery where he finds Wendy staring transfixed out the open window locked in gaze with the second star to the right just as she has been every night since their return. Gentle lips meet soft brown hair as he leans in and places a fatherly kiss on Wendy's head snapping her from her trance. Wendy turns and hugs her father's waist warmly in a clearly meant-to-be reassuring manner, as if saying 'see father I'm okay, I'm still here'.

"Wendy… Wendy… my precious Wendy. What is the thing that calls your heart back to that star every night?" asks Mr. Darling softly.

"It is not the star father, it is what lies beyond it" replies Wendy with dismay and longing.

"Wendy please… your mother and I love you, we only want to help you, don't you understand that?" begged Mr. Darling kneeling down next to Wendy.

"Yes, but you seek something I cannot give you" replies Wendy coldly as she turns her gaze back towards the stars.

"Cannot or won't" Mr. Darling snarls with frustration.

"Pick one." replies Wendy frustrated at her father's daily and constant questioning.

A loud crack echoes throughout the room as Mr. Darling's hand makes impact with Wendy's face sending her crashing down hard to the floor.

"It appears I will have to take more aggressive methods to find out the truth." Says Mr. Darling trying to regain his posture before turning and making his way out of the Nursery, leaving a stunned Wendy sobbing on the Nursery floor.

"I tried again with Wendy tonight" says Mr. Darling dismayed as he takes of his clothes and climbs into bed next to his wife.

"How did it go" replies Mrs. Darling half-heartedly.

"Same as before except this time I… I..." says Mr. Darling voice shaky with regret, and frustration.

"You what?" Inquires Mrs. Darling turning to face her husband with concern.

"I hit her… For the first time in her life, I hit her. I never hit any kids before, but I was just so…"

"Afraid" says Mrs. Darling placing a soothing hand on Mr. Darling's cheek lovingly.

"Yes… afraid, we are losing her. All she does is stare out that window every night searching the heavens for who knows what. She hardly eats, she hardly speaks to us. I know you feel it to."

"I do but what can we do?"

"I do not know but I intended to find out" and with that said Mr. Darling turns of the light next to bed and then turning to his wife's soothing yet sparkless embrace as they both drift off to sleep.


	5. Lost Boys Found

Lost Boys Found:

( London, England, January 4th, 1905 C.E. )

The pale frozen surface of the Thames River glistened and sparkled under the morning sunlight dancing it's way down through the partly cloudy winter sky. On a nearby riverside bench sits Mr Darling lost in thought staring out over the festival of skaters frolicking on the frozen river as he continues to replay last night in his head becoming ever more sure of his decision to take the step he was about to take. Mr. Darling's attention is abruptly brought back to the present by the family frozen touch surged through his shoulder causing him to suddenly turn to find Vincent Frost standing next to him smiling warmly with his right hand resting casual on Mr. Darling's shoulder.

"I thought we would be meeting again soon. Why the sudden change of heart?" says Vincent as he takes a seat on the bench next to Mr. Darling radiating his unearthly chill despite his warm demeanor.

"Listen, I don't know how you know about what is going on in my family but I do know that everything I have tried to get to the truth has failed and all my efforts have done is cause me to hurt the one I love the most. So here I am , you seem to think you can help me so… Here I am. what can you do to help me?" says Mr. Darling as Vincent's just nods understandingly.

"Look Mr. Darling we know this is hard for you, really but we really do only wish to help." replies Vincent as he again rests his hand on Mr. Darling's shoulder supportivily only to once again cause Mr. Darling to shiver uncomfortable under his touch for a moment.

"Here look… we have already discovered the true identities of those boys you have staying with you, it would appear the Lost Boys were not always so lost after all." continues Vincent as he removes his hand from Mr. Darling and proceeds to pull a set of files out of his briefcase; presenting them to Mr. Darling.

"Really?" responds Mr. Darling casting his gaze to the files opened up before him.

"First on our list is this child, do you know him?" asks Vincent as he begins guiding Mr. Darling through the contents of the files.

"Yes... he is one they call Slightly… so he was not always so dirty and wild looking" responds Mr. Darling in a smile.

"Indeed, the boy you call Slightly was once known as Jared Willard, of 251 B Baker Street, went missing twenty years ago. He was second son of the well-to-do Mr. and Mrs. Willard, the case was originally handled by one Detective Holmes and his partner Mr. Watson but even they were unable to provide a logical explanation for Jared's highly mysterious disappearance"

"This can't be right… it can't be…. went missing over twenty years ago, that's just not possible. There is no way he is that old, you can tell just by looking at him. it's just impossible" replies Mr. Darling shocked.

"You mean impossible like your children vanishing without a trace out of a second story window in the middle of the night." counters Vincent.

"Very well please continue" concedes Mr. Darling as he gestures for Vincent to continue.

"Funny thing is Slightly is actually something of an anomaly among the Lost Boys, no doubt why he is the second in command in their little troop." Continues Vincent as he resumes guiding Mr. Darling through the contents of the files.

"How do you mean" asks Mr. Darling intrigued.

"Well all the other children went missing from Kensington Gardens Orphanage but on the other hand Slightly vanished from his own house while his parents were sleeping peacefully in their nearby room, so he is not orphan like others and given his family's socioeconomic status he is the only one who comes from a well-off family. Of course in the end these difference are of little consequence. So moving on to the next boy on our list we have this boy, I assume you know him?" Answers Vincent as she shows Mr. Darling a picture of the next boy in the list.

"Yes he is the one called Tootles." responds Mr. Darling.

"Yes well Tootles was once Shawn W. Preston, orphan, went missing sixteen years ago."

"This is just so weird. Who's next?" says Mr. Darling.

"Well How about these two twins?" replies Vincent putting away the picture of Tootles and pulling out a picture of two young twin boys.

"Yes I know these two but so far I do not know what they call themselves they are rather quite actually" responds Mr. Darling.

"Well they were once known as Samuel and Jacob Muldrow. again orphans both went missing together about six years ago." replies Vincent casually.

"What about the other two boys, Nibs and Curly?" asks Mr. Darling curiously.

"Are these two boys them?"asks Vincent as he puts back the photo of the Twins and pulls out another two photos and shows them to Mr. Darling.

"Yeah that's them alright" answers Mr. Darling.

"Well according to our info they both went missing about eleven years ago, the one called Curly is actually Gideon Andrew Sullen and the one called Nibs was once Richard G. Fisher again both orphans... So given all this information let's take stock shall we?" says Vincent placing all the folders except one back into his case, and then turning his gaze to the festival of skaters contemplatively.

"We know all these boys except Slightly were orphans and all of them except slightly went missing from the same orphanage and we know that all of them have somehow managed to vanish off the face of the earth for several years and then return without having aged a day. Oh and by the way I almost forgot there was one more child, do you know him?" asks Vincent pulling out one last image, this time a very old sketch rather than a photo out of the last remaining folder.

"Another child you say" replies Mr. Darling as he bestows his attention to the sketch.

"No I don't know him? Is he connected to this some how?" asks Mr. Darling curiously.

"We are not sure, all we know is that he went missing mysteriously like the other boys from same orphanage but the real interesting thing is unlike the other boys who went missing in fairly recent times this boy went missing in 1790s.

"That makes sense but this boy was not among the boys my children brought home so there's nothing I can tell you about him."

"Strange, because he is not just part of the pattern in these disappearances, he seems to be the origin point." replies Vincent in a somewhat disappointed tone.

"Look, thank you for all this info but how did you get this and how does knowing this help me with my daughter she still is not going to tell me the truth." asks Mr. Darling politely.

"It helps because there is likely more to the truth than even she knows and the more we know the more we can help her without her telling us if need be. However if you do insist on getting the truth from her directly we have better methods than hitting her." explains Vincent coolly.

"Now before we go any further I must insist on behalf of the organization that I represent that we make this arrangement official. Here is how this will work; you give us your oath of secrecy and allegiance and in exchange we will not only help you get the truth but we will also open your eyes to the world that lies behind this one. So do we have a deal?" asks Vincent holding out his hand to Mr. Darling.

"Two questions first." responds Mr. Darling.

"Very well" replies Vincent in a tone of mock surrender.

"First what do you mean world behind this one?" asks Mr. Darling.

"Well until you agree to our terms the most I can say is that this phenomenon goes beyond just your children and those Lost Boys. Through due diligence and effort we have confirmed that this phenomenon spans both time and world, with cases going back hundreds of years and the truth is somethings coming... we are not sure what it is but it is coming for your children, and all the children like them in the world. Please all we are offering is the truth and all we want is your secrecy and your allegiance nothing more." answers Vincent reaching out his hand one more time to Mr. Darling.

"I understand but one last question first before I commit. This is a bit personal but what are you? Not to be rude but you look… bizarre… and not to mention the frigid arctic cold front that is always emanating from you. So what are you?" asks Mr. Darling.

"Well that is a complicated question but I suppose it would be correct to say I am not what you would call human anymore, I cannot give you a full answer because I do not know the answer myself now do we have deal?"

"Yes… I suppose we do" answers Mr. Darling as he shakes Vincent's hand sealing the deal… and at the same time the fate of his family.


	6. A Boy Shattered

A Boy Shattered:

( London, England, 1852 C.E. )

Screams reverberate chaotically through the night as a young boy sits clinging to the body of his mother, mind reeling; blurred faces rush towards him. He lays his head against hers as mother's blood mingles with the tears of her shattered boy.

It had not even been more than a few hours before the system plucked him away and dropped him in an orphanage. They had not even properly washed him. Lying in a cold bed, truly God had turned his back to him.

It was several days later that they finally bathed him. The tub they slid him into was poorly maintained, grime stuck around the ridges, and rust on the base made it uncomfortable to sit on. A nun came in to help scrub him off. She introduced herself as Sister Hilda while gently rubbing his hands with a bar of soap. She was a kind, delicate, and softly spoken woman. She asked if he was well. He only answered with silence, it's the only answer he could think of to match how he felt inside. She tried to console him threw the washing, saying things like _God has a plan for yo_u, and _he does not take things away lightly or without reason_. All her talk finally brought up with in him the will to speak.

"Enough, there is no God, no plan, no bloody fucking light at the end of the dark tunnel." shouted Smee; voice thick with the burning rage of the disillusioned before turning her face away from her embarrassed.

"I'm sorry I screamed but please spare me your preaching, I have no need for it." Replied Sister Hilda with a sigh. Sister Hilda let out a heavy sigh nodding understandingly.

Later in the afternoon a constable had arrived at the orphanage. Smee watched from the stairwell as he entered, he was a prim and proper looking white gentleman clad in a blue uniform. His hat was brought to his chest as he gave a polite bow to the receptionist in greeting. They spoke in hushed tones before a hand was brought up pointing at Smee. The man gave a polite nod, then gestured for Smee to come down. Once he had reached the base of the stairs he was guided into a mostly empty, small Parlor of a room, occupied by only two chairs and small side table, the room was illuminated with a soft orange hue of light from the fire place in the far wall.

"Ugh.." bellowed from the man as he dropped into one of the seats; shifting around a bit in futile effort to find comfort.

"These seats are a bit rickety eh? Ought to put a coaster under the leg!" he shook his head, bringing his gaze back to the boy.

"Think you all should have decent chairs in here, but alas, please… take a seat." requested the Constable. Smee obeyed the request taking a seat in front of him.

"My name is Officer Grandin, the precinct has sent me down here to get your word on the events that transpired. What we have right now is that the victim, your mother, received several wounds from what we suspect was a long serrated knife. The few witnesses present claim there were between five to seven attackers. But none of them could offer any description of them. If your comfortable, I just have a few questions" Smee shyly nods.

"First please would you kindly state your name and age for the record?" asks Officer Grandin politely.

"My name is Benjamin Rewndell Finleigh Smee, and I am eight years old." answers Smee nervously.

"What can you recall about the night in question?" asked the Constable pulling out his notepad and then leaning in slightly placing his Pen to the paper preparing to write down Smee's statement.

"My mother and I were coming back home from the market it was very late and we headed through the docks by the Thames River. We had come to a corner when I saw several men shouting and being rather rowdy. I wanted to turn back but my mother just kept walking towards them" He paused for a moment.

"Then they started shouting at us, I started tugging at my mom to turn around but she simply looked at me and said there's no reason to fear, they are just some drunken rabble rousers. They started to approach us." Smee's eyes started to swell with tears.

"As they got closer, I could make out what they were saying, yelling… things at my mother, cruel things, they called her a brown bitch. I saw the glint of a knife; they came at us, then…" sobs erupted through Smee's body as the tears began to flow freely; feeling just as he had that night.

"They were upon her, she was screaming I tried to help her but they were too strong; then it was suddenly over and… and she was gone." more screams and sobs pour out of him, his fists bludgeoning the table in front of him violently; Sister Hilda made her way over to him wrapping her arms around him soothingly.

"I am truly sorry Benjamin, I know this must be hard but if you please I have just a few more questions for you?" responds the constable delicately. Smee manages to steady himself once again turning his still tearful gaze back to Officer Grandin before nodding affirmatively for Officer Grandin to continue with his remaining questions.

"Do you remember anything of the assailants?" Asked Officer Grandin calmly. Smee nodded weakly which he then followed up with a very generous description of the attackers, despite the days that have passed, their visage was still burned into his memory. All the scars, wrinkles, the mole one had just to the the left of his eye.

"Alright, that will be quite sufficient a description. Was there anything else out of the ordinary that night, anyone or anything strange that might be relevant to what happened?" at first Smee starts to shake his head but then he suddenly remembers there was something strange.

"Yes there was something… or rather someone, a boy at least I think it was boy. I think he had been following my mother and me that night because I kept seeing him out of the corner eye but whenever I tried to turn my gaze to him for a better look he would be gone as if he was never even there."

"Okay so you are saying you could not get a direct look at this boy but is there anything about his description you can tell me?" responds Officer Grandin.

"Yeah, he had this long, bright platinum hair and pale white skin, I think he was about my height. His whole body from the neck down was covered in some sort of silver material that shimmered like metal but clung to the body like tight cloth but again I could not look directly at him without him vanishing so I did not get a good look at his face. You must think I am insane but that is what I saw" says Smee nervously averting his gaze to the floor for a moment.

"That is strange... I am not sure if it will really help us but thank you for trusting me enough to be so forthcoming." replies Officer Grandin.

"Well moving along. Now what can you tell me of your father, do you know where he is?" inquires Officer Grandin as Smee shakes his head in response.

"My mother told me he died when I was very young, she said he died a great man on the fields of battle."

"I'm sure he was a very brave man, who died honorably for Queen and Country. Alright one last question? Do you have any other family, anyone who can look after you from this point on?" Smee again shook his head in response as his gaze is drawn to the ground his head low and heavy under the weight of his own loneliness.

"Most of them are in India and I know not of their names or where they reside." responds Smee weakly, his voice trailing off into a long pause as Officer Grandin closes his notepad and puts it and his pen back into his pocket before standing up from the table and making his way over to the spot where Smee still sat.

"I know this was not easy but what you just gave us should be very helpful, we will be in touch if we find out anything." Smee nods again weakly.

"In light of the fact that you currently have no family into whose care you may be sent, it is policy that you remain here at the orphanage until a more suitable home may be located... now I must be going." Replies Officer Grandin as he takes out his pocket watch; checking the time before casting his gaze to Sister Hilda with a polite nod.

"Will you catch them? Don't lie please… I want the truth" says Smee with dismay as Officer Grandin is just about to the walk out of the room. Officer Grandin stares down at the floor for a moment before letting off a long sigh.

"Most likely not... the most we can do is spread the word around, but it's doubtful anyone will come back with any leads. I do not wish to lie to you Smee and I am sorry that the truth must be such a bleak one in light of all you have gone though. I am sorry...I truly am" Responds Officer Grandin apologetically, and with those final words now passed Officer Grandin takes his leave.

Smee couldn't sleep that night he tossed and turned tortured by the still fresh in his mind images of his mother's murder and the overwhelming anger he felt at Officer Grandin's admission that justice via the legal system was nearly impossible and as his rage continued to build inside him the cold painful truth of the matter become so obvious he wanted justice for his mother he would have to get it himself one way or another.


End file.
